


here

by mullethyuck



Series: stranger than fiction [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 1980s, America, Blood, Cancer, Creepy, Death, First Dates, Inspired by Real Events, Lies, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Stalking, seances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23137657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mullethyuck/pseuds/mullethyuck
Summary: "Oh, I got your number from Donghyuck Lee," the voice says. Jaemin sighs. His best friend really needs to quit giving his number out.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Na Jaemin & Park Jisung
Series: stranger than fiction [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684783
Comments: 11
Kudos: 53





	here

**Author's Note:**

> ok well i wanted to write something creepy for friday the 13th but i'm dumb and didn't start this till almost midnight so...happy pi day?
> 
> yeah the title sounds generic but i borrowed it from lemon demon because his [stuff](https://youtu.be/f7qPqxsFlVg) is just so perfect for anything vaguely horror related
> 
> (this is completely unedited because i wrote it all in one go and i'm sleepy so please point out any mistakes if you notice them)

Jaemin unlocks the door, tumbling inside as his little brother nearly runs him over to get to the Nintendo first.

“Jesus, Sungie, you can have it,” he grumps as he rubs at his calf where Jisung had kicked him in his hurry. (Jisung’s hit a growth spurt recently and now he’s a deadly combination of gangly limbs and lack of spatial awareness.)

Jisung blows him a raspberry as he starts up the next level of Ice Climber; why he subjects himself to such torture is beyond Jaemin, who'd much rather settle for Tetris or Mach Rider. But whatever, everyone has their vices. Jisung’s just happens to be masochism via electronic martyrdom. Pretty typical for a fifteen year old boy, really.

Jaemin, for his part, resigns himself to actually doing his homework in a timely manner since the only source of a good distraction is currently occupied. He shuffles into the kitchen, flipping the lights on as he goes, and dumps his backpack on the tile next to the table. He rummages around in the fridge for the better part of ten minutes, periodically switching to the pantry and then back again when he inevitably finds nothing worth his attention. Eventually he settles on a half-stale twinkie that was shoved behind the cereal boxes god knows when. It's not like it matters though, that shit never expires.

He plops down into the chair next to his bag and digs out his history textbook as he munches on his snack. The sound effects of Jisung’s game offer him background noise as he reads over the worksheet he's meant to complete, and he groans when he sees the questions are all short answer. At least there are only five of them. He shoves the rest of the twinkie in his mouth and gets to work.

He's nearly done with the last question (it was two parts, because his teacher is evil) when the phone rings. It's not that unusual, really - probably just their dad calling about what they want for dinner or saying he'll be running late. Jaemin glances at the clock, but it's only 4:30. They have a good hour before they're expecting their dad home.

He huffs, dropping his pencil with a clatter and trudging over to the phone mounted on the wall by the door. “Na residence,” he says flatly.

“Hey, uh. Can I speak to Jaemin?” comes an unfamiliar voice over the line.

Jaemin feels his eyebrows raise, and he turns to lean against the wall, phone cord wrapping around his arm. He's too lazy to untangle it. “This is Jaemin.”

Jisung perks up at that, cocking an eyebrow even though his attention never leaves the little characters jumping around the TV screen. “Oh. Hi,” the voice says shakily. “I just, uh. Wanted to talk to you?” It's said like a question, though Jaemin isn't sure if that's intentional or not.

“Okay,” he drawls. “Who are you?”

“Jeno Lee,” is the only answer he gets. It means absolutely nothing to him.

“How did you get my number?” Jaemin questions, because it seems as good a place to start as any.

"Oh, I got it from Donghyuck Lee," the voice - Jeno - says. Jaemin sighs. His best friend really needs to quit giving his number out for no reason.

“Why didn't you just ask me yourself?” is the next thing on Jaemin’s list of _questions to ask when an unknown suitor decides to phone your house despite having no previous interactions to speak of._ Sadly, it’s not his first time dealing with this particularly niche dilemma. Donghyuck is an amazing friend, the best actually, but he's a fucking idiot who doesn't think twice when some poor sap asks for Jaemin’s number because they're too afraid to ask Jaemin himself for it.

“I was afraid you'd say no,” Jeno says quietly. It makes sense, unfortunately. Donghyuck never says no. (Except that one time last year when a 40 year old woman asked if Jaemin was single, and Donghyuck had nearly punched her right in the Botox right then and there.)

“You never know unless you try,” Jaemin says noncommittally, playing with the cord that's slowly cutting off the circulation in his shoulder. “Do I know you?” It's a valid question; half the people who have a crush on him are virtually invisible, flying under his radar like the very thought of being noticed is enough to cause catastrophe. Somehow the phone offers a barrier and, by extension, confidence.

“Probably not.” Jeno laughs dryly. “I mean, I’ve seen you before, but I don't know if you noticed me.”

Jaemin wracks his brain for any sort of indication that they'd crossed paths, but it's kind of hard to do when he doesn't have anything to go off of besides a name. “What do you look like?”

Jeno hums. “I dunno. Tall, blond, football player.” The words should sound cocky, but the way he says it is almost sheepish.

Jaemin purses his lips. “I would definitely remember if I'd seen you, then. You go to school with us?” If Jeno had the opportunity to ask Donghyuck for his number, it would make sense they had classes together or something.

“No, I live a town over,” Jeno responds with no further explanation.

Before Jaemin can ask him to elaborate, the front door swings open and his dad walks into the living room. “Shit,” he hisses as he finally frees his arm from the cord, struggling to untwist it while keeping the phone against his ear. “Gotta go, Jeno.” It's not that his dad would mind him talking on the phone, exactly, but Jaemin would rather avoid all the prying questions he'd definitely ask if he found out Jaemin was talking to a _boy._ And since there isn't much to say about the matter anyway, it hardly seems worth the anguish.

He thinks he hears Jeno start to ask if he can call Jaemin again, but the phone is already halfway to the mount, and by then it's too late. “Hey, Dad!” he calls as he walks into the living room, finding his dad sat next to Jisung on the couch, watching his ice climbers die for the millionth time since they got home.

“Hey, Jaem,” he says warmly, reaching up to ruffle Jaemin's hair. “You finish your homework?”

Jaemin cuts Jisung a look, but his little brother ignores him as usual. “Yeah.”

His dad shoots him a smile, then nudges Jisung on the shoulder. “C’mon Sungie, it's Jaemin’s turn.”

Jisung groans like he's dying, but his dramatics make it all too easy for Jaemin to snatch the controller out of his hands.

* * *

So many days pass before the next call, Jaemin almost forgets about Jeno entirely. (It's only like a week and a half, really, but Jaemin has better things to do than speculate about one of his many anonymous admirers.)

Which is unfortunate, because when he answers the phone one uneventful Tuesday he really wishes he would've asked Donghyuck about his mystery boy. It's hard to talk to someone you don't know anything about.

That doesn't seem to stop Jeno. “I saw a bunny on the way home today,” he says the millisecond Jaemin answers the phone.

Jaemin squints at his algebra homework. “Uh. Okay.”

Jeno is undeterred by his lackluster response. “It reminded me of you, kinda. Really cute, a little jumpy,” he laughs at his own pun while Jaemin rolls his eyes, “and fluffy.”

That’s enough to tear Jaemin’s attention away from the quadratic formula. “You think I’m _fluffy?”_ he says incredulously.

“Your hair is, yeah,” Jeno says like it's a fact and this is not the most ridiculous way their conversation could've gone.

Jaemin scoffs, tapping his pencil against the spiral of his notebook. The curl of the metal is coming apart, wire sticking out wildly at the top. “I resent that statement.”

Jeno laughs again. “Don't. It was meant to be a compliment.”

“You like bunnies?” Jaemin asks as he doodles over his homework. A strawberry, Kermit the frog, a poor rendition of his favourite denim jacket - the one covered in pins.

“I mean, sure. Cats are my favourite though,” Jeno says agreeably. “You?”

Jaemin hums as he shades a button on his jacket drawing. “They're okay. I'm more of a dog person.”

“Oh, do you have a dog?”

Jaemin pouts even though Jeno can't see him. “No. My dad’s not home a lot, and he doesn't trust us to take care of a pet.”

“Us?” Jeno parrots.

Jaemin frowns. “Yeah. My little brother and me.”

Jeno doesn't seem to have anything to say to that, but it's fine. Jaemin can hear the key turning in the lock. “My dad's home, I gotta go,” he says, much calmer than last time.

“Oh,” Jeno has the decency to sound disappointed, even if their conversation had been less than riveting. “Can I call you again?”

Jaemin smiles, but it's a little forced. “Would it stop you even if I said no?”

Jeno doesn't miss a beat. “Yeah, of course.”

“Then yeah, you can call me again.” Jaemin hangs up right as his dad walks into the kitchen.

“Who you talking to?” he asks, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“No one,” Jaemin says, and he drops it.

* * *

After that, they talk on the phone nearly every other day. Jaemin never does get around to asking Donghyuck about Jeno, because by the time he thinks to question it, he knows Jeno well enough not to care.

Jeno’s a little weird, a little awkward, but he's sweet enough and he's easy to talk to. He doesn't ever tell Jaemin to shut up or stop whining (which he admittedly does more than is strictly necessary) and he's always got some dumb story to tell. Half the time they just talk about what they did that day, and it should bore Jaemin out of his mind but somehow he doesn't get tired of it.

They've been talking for a month when Jeno asks him. It's casual as ever, as stable as Jeno himself. “Will you go out with me?”

Jaemin stares at the dirty pot in the sink across the room. “Go out where?”

“Like, on a date.” Which doesn't really answer Jaemin’s question, but it's further than anyone else has gotten with their telephone rendezvouses. Jeno’s tenacious, he’ll give him that.

“Sure,” is all Jaemin says, because that's all the answer Jeno needs.

“Cool. Can I pick you up Friday?”

Jaemin thinks for a second. “What time?”

“Whenever you're free.”

Jaemin furrows his brow. “Don't you have football practice?”

“Not on Friday.” As always, he doesn't bother to explain.

“Oh. Then maybe at four?”

“Sounds good. I'll see you then.” Jaemin can almost hear the smile in Jeno’s voice, and it makes the corners of his mouth quirk up too.

“Okay. See you then, Jen.”

It's not until an hour after they hang up that Jaemin realizes Jeno never asked for his address.

* * *

Friday comes, and with it comes beautiful weather and a panicked Jaemin.

He's in his room, Jisung sprawled out on his bed with his head hanging upside down over the edge, reading a Spider-man comic. How he focuses with all the blood rushing to his head is beyond Jaemin. “Does this look stupid?”

Jisung glances at him for all of half a second before saying, “The shirt is ugly,” like the ever helpful brother he is.

Jaemin wants to rip his hair out at the roots - this is the _fifth_ shirt he's changed into, for god’s sake - but he doesn't want to mess up his perfectly styled crop cut, so he opts to stomp back to his closet and go for round six. He peers down at his favourite acid wash jeans (rolled up at the ankles, obviously) and dingy old Pumas and wills some sort of divine inspiration for an outfit that isn't totally heinous.

After several minutes he caves and changes into the baggy black t-shirt he's had since freshman year, tucks it in and throws his denim jacket over it. It's not revolutionary or anything, but it's foolproof. He knows he looks good in it, and he’ll definitely be hot in the jacket later but it's his security blanket so he'll just manage to survive the mild heatstroke.

He walks over to his bed, kicks Jisung’s arm lightly, and does a spin. “Better?” he prompts.

Jisung sort of shrugs, as well as he can sliding half off the bed. “You look like you always do.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Jaemin says cheekily just as the doorbell rings. “Gotta go Sungie, be good!” He grabs his wallet and practically tumbles down the stairs, Jisung’s faint call of “Have fun!” nearly drowned out by his loud footsteps.

He composes himself a considerable amount over the course of the three seconds it takes him to cross the living room to the front door. He takes a deep breath, swings it open, and it's then that it hits him: this is all some cruel joke. A horrible, sick, twisted joke. Sadistic, even.

The Jeno in front of him is not the Jeno he knows. Or rather, it's not the Jeno that Jeno wanted him to know.

“Hey,” he says, and he sounds like he always does on the phone but the way he looks while saying it clashes so irrevocably with the Jeno of Jaemin’s daydreams that he thinks he might be ill.

The Jeno of Jaemin’s dreams has perfect blond hair that Jaemin wants to run his fingers through; the Jeno standing on his doorstep has a greasy black mop that desperately needs a comb. Jaemin’s Jeno is athletic and tall; this Jeno is average height, average build, and decidedly _not_ the football player he claimed to be. The Jeno that Jaemin had grown fond of was charismatic and calm; the Jeno that exists in the real world is painfully awkward and his body language screams of anxiety. His face is pulled taut, and his eyes are bruised from lack of sleep. Even his clothes are disappointing, from his ratty t-shirt to his black Converse with a hole in the toe, and Jaemin suddenly feels like the world’s biggest idiot for worrying so much about his own appearance.

Jaemin is honestly impressed Jeno had him fooled so completely. “Hi,” is all he can manage to force out. He doesn't know where to start.

Jeno is always the one to move things along, and that doesn't seem to be changing any time soon. “So I was thinking we could go to the fair, if that's cool?” He says it confidently, just like Jaemin’s used to hearing, but there's a horrible disconnect between his tone and his movements. His hands are shaking so bad Jaemin can see it from a foot away.

“Uh, actually, I -” Jaemin cuts himself off, scrambling for an excuse. “My dad’s staying late at work today, so I have to stay home with my brother. Sorry.”

Jeno tilts his head, and he looks weirdly like a puppy. A poor, abandoned, mangy puppy. The kind you'd see on the side of the street and feel bad for it, but not touch it in case it has rabies. “You could've told me to come later...I thought your dad didn't get home till 5:30 anyway.”

It briefly crosses Jaemin’s mind that Jeno has no reason to know that particular bit of information, but he's too caught up in formulating his escape plan to be bothered by it. “Well, yeah, but Jisung asked me to stay since he doesn't like being alone in the house after dark.” It won't get dark for another several hours, but Jaemin blatantly ignores that fact.

“Jaem, he's fifteen. He'll be okay.” Jeno frowns for the first time since Jaemin’s seen him, and it's unsettling. He much prefers his blank stare and shaky hands.

Jaemin thinks he might be sweating. He really doesn't want to cause a scene, so he says, “Okay, but I have to be home by dark to keep him company.”

Jeno’s face relaxes, thank fuck, and he nods. “Fine. Let's go.”

Jaemin takes one last look into the house before shutting the door and following Jeno down the steps.

* * *

The date, despite all evidence to the contrary, isn't _that_ bad.

Sure, Jaemin flinches every time Jeno touches him. And yeah, it’s unmistakable how much attention Jeno draws (in the worst way possible). And maybe Jaemin takes about twelve more bathroom breaks than are strictly necessary just to get away, but he can't be blamed for his actions when he's left alone with the polar opposite of what he expected his date to be. So overall, could be worse.

As soon as the sun kisses the horizon, Jaemin's booking it out of the fairgrounds. He would be tugging Jeno along with him, but that would require physical contact, and at this point Jaemin’s questioning when the last time Jeno bathed even was. So, no thanks. As it is, he just keeps yelling at Jeno to hurry up so he can get home before Jisung panics.

Jeno, for his part, just wants to make conversation. It seems like that's all he ever wants to do. “So, how come your mom’s never home?” he asks as the lights of the ferris wheel fade into the landscape behind them.

Jaemin twitches and hopes Jeno doesn't notice, but he's pretty sure he does. Jeno is eerily perceptive. “She's dead,” he says simply.

“How'd she die?” Jeno asks. No apology, no pity, no fake sympathy. Just a question. Jaemin can't decide which one he prefers.

Jaemin kicks a rock out of the way, adding another scuff to the sole of his shoe. “Cancer.”

Jeno nods, which Jaemin has no idea how to interpret. “Did she suffer a lot?”

Jaemin eyes him. “Uh. I dunno. I guess she was in pain, yeah.” He tries not to think about it.

Jeno just looks at him, face blank as ever. “How long did it take?”

“Huh?”

“How long was she sick?”

Jaemin frowns. “Two years.” He has the urge to ask why Jeno cares about that detail, but decides he doesn't want to hear the answer.

“What do you think she felt when she died?” Jeno’s looking up at the stars, like they hold the secrets of the universe. Once upon a time Jaemin had been inclined to agree, but now he's not so sure. Or well, he still believes they do, he just doesn't think they're so willing to share what they know.

“I have no idea,” he says truthfully. Maybe he'd be a little more curious as to what Jeno hoped to gain from asking such a question, but now he's thinking about what death must feel like and that's kind of mind-engulfing. They don't say anything else for the rest of the walk home.

When they reach his front door, Jeno hovers, and Jaemin dreads whatever Jeno wants from him. “Bye, Jeno. Have a good night,” he says, and he tries his hardest not to sound dismissive, he really does.

He isn't sure he succeeds, but either way Jeno just gives him a tiny smile. His lips curl up, his eyes turn to crescents, and it's somehow the worst expression Jaemin has seen on him yet. It doesn't sit right on his face; it should be cute, but something about it is off. “Bye, Jaem. See you later.” He turns on his heel and disappears with a wave over his shoulder.

The first thing Jaemin does when he gets inside is call Donghyuck. “What the fuck?” he says without preamble.

Donghyuck makes an offended noise as he rolls over in bed, rustling the sheets audibly. “What's your damage?” he asks petulantly.

“Why the hell did you give Jeno Lee my number?” Jaemin hisses, more from distress than anger.

Donghyuck’s silent for several excruciating moments. “Who?”

* * *

Months go by, and Jeno Lee becomes nothing but a phantom, a residual ghost of some fever dream Jaemin barely remembers having. In hindsight, he's probably actively blocking it from his mind. It helps that Jeno never calls him again.

Life goes back to normal, mostly. Donghyuck’s quit giving Jaemin’s number out (though he swears he stopped long before Jeno came into the picture), Jisung is being annoying as ever, and Jaemin is more or less surviving high school. It's good. It's consistent.

Obviously, Jaemin and Jisung have to do something to fuck that up like the teenage boys they are.

“Are you sure this will work?” Jisung whispers across their basement, waving a candle in the air so he can make out Jaemin’s face.

“Obviously not,” Jaemin shoots back, lighting several more candles. “But it can't hurt to try, yeah?”

Jisung doesn't look persuaded, and for good reason. Jaemin found a dusty old spell book at the library down the street yesterday, and now he's convinced that it holds the secret to contacting their dead mother. Which it very well might, fuck if they know, but Jisung really thinks Jaemin should consider what else they might get in contact with on the off chance this is real.

Jaemin is unfazed, naturally. He doesn't really believe this will do anything, so what is there to be afraid of? Worst comes to worst, he's seen The Exorcist. He can probably figure it out.

They sit side by side in the middle of the room. Jisung’s shaking like a leaf, so Jaemin reaches out to grab his hand while he searches through the open book with his free hand. He finds the page he needs, gives Jisung’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and drags the book over so it's between them. “Ready, Sungie?” he asks like it's a hot summer day and they're about to dive into the pool, not a damp basement where they're trying to summon the spirit of their mother.

Jisung doesn't say anything, doesn't even move. Jaemin puts a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of it. “Yeah, okay,” he finally says, though it lacks conviction.

Jaemin points to the words they need to say, and counts down for them to start in unison. It's a short chant, barely a paragraph, but they repeat it so many times it feels like a monologue. Jaemin doesn't actually know how many times they’re supposed to recite the passage, but after he loses count he decides to call it quits.

They sit there in the dark for a good half hour, candlelight dancing over their faces as they wait for something - anything - to happen.

All that happens is their father arriving home from work and calling their names, and they rush to blow out the candles before scrambling upstairs to greet him. Jaemin isn't sure if he's disappointed or relieved.

* * *

It's hours later when they hear it. Or rather, Jaemin hears it. A knocking, rhythmic, like it's coming from his bedroom wall.

He gets out of bed, and a quick glance at the clock tells him it's nearly 3am. He squints in the dark, as if that will help him hear any better, and pauses in the middle of his room. He hears it again. _Knock, knock, knock_ against the wall behind his dresser. He runs next door to Jisung’s room.

“Sungie, wake _up!”_ he whisper-yells, jostling his little brother’s shoulders.

Jisung groans as he's ripped from whatever dream he'd been enjoying, frowning up at Jaemin, who's practically sat on top of him. “What do you want?” he asks as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“It's Mom! We got her!” Jaemin says inexplicably, bouncing up and down, jiggling Jisung on the mattress.

It takes a few seconds for his words to register in Jisung’s sleep-muddled brain. “We - huh?”

Jaemin gives up on explaining, resorting to repeating “Get up, get up!” on an endless loop as he yanks on Jisung’s arm.

Jisung eventually complies, sliding out of bed and following Jaemin to his bedroom. He barely takes two steps into the room before Jaemin stops him with a hand on his chest, pressing a finger to his lips in a signal to be quiet. _Knock, knock, knock._

“There it is again!” Jaemin hisses in Jisung’s ear.

“Is that - You think that's Mom?” Jisung asks, wide eyes searching Jaemin’s face.

“It has to be! Our seance worked,” Jaemin says louder than he means to, and Jisung elbows him in the ribs.

“Shut up, Dad’s gonna hear you,” he mutters before turning in the direction of the noise. “Did you try talking back?”

Jaemin shakes his head. “I went and got you as soon as I heard it.”

Jisung nods, pensive. “Should we try?”

Jaemin shrugs, but he sounds giddy when he says, “Let's do it.”

They sit next to Jaemin’s dresser, just like they did in the basement, and hold hands as they think of what to say. Jaemin squeezes Jisung’s hand before starting them off.

“Mom?” he says timidly. _Knock, knock, knock._ “We’re gonna ask you questions, if that's alright. Just answer one knock for yes, two for no. Okay?” _Knock._

Jaemin nudges Jisung, who goes first. “Do you miss us?” _Knock._

Jisung nods at Jaemin, who takes a deep breath. “Are you in pain?” _Knock, knock._

The boys share a look that's somehow unreadable even though their expressions mirror each other. “Do you want to come back?” Jisung tries. He sounds a little strangled. _Knock._

“ _Can_ you come back?” Jaemin prompts. _Knock, knock._

“I miss you, Mommy,” Jisung says, barely a breath, a whisper. A ghost, just like their mother.

When no knock comes, Jaemin lets out a rough, “I miss you too, Mom,” as Jisung’s tears litter his shoulder.

They're both crying now, and it suddenly hits Jaemin that maybe dead things should stay buried.

* * *

Dead things, as it turns out, will only allow themselves to be buried once. If you bring it back, you'd better be prepared to keep it.

Keeping it, in the case of their mother, means tolerating a headache-inducing knocking at all hours of the day. It's inescapable; it follows Jaemin and Jisung wherever they go, and they're about two knocks away from losing their fucking minds. The bizarre thing is, it stops when their father is home. Until nightfall, that is.

Once their heads hit the pillow is when it really starts up. During the day, it's an occasional rap, like someone’s hitting their knuckles lightly against the wall - steady, but bearable. At night, it's an incessant pounding that makes sleep impossible and logical thought exhausting. They've started sleeping together in Jaemin’s bed in a futile attempt to drown out the noise with the sheer force of their own willpower, fueled by the knowledge that they aren't alone.

It didn't start out this way. For the first few nights, it was almost pleasant. They'd sit on Jaemin’s carpet, ask some questions, get some answers, and move on with their day. Rinse and repeat. Jaemin isn't sure what triggered the switch, but he doesn't care much about what caused it as long as he can figure out how to reverse it.

He searches in the book from the library, reads every page in a desperate cry for help, hope dwindling with every line. He finds nothing, and Jisung even tries looking through it as well; sweet, innocent Jisung who’d never touch the thing otherwise, just wants to help despite how terrified he is. How terrified they both are.

It takes a couple weeks for Jaemin to admit that maybe this is not, in fact, the spirit of their lost mother at work. A mother torn from her kids would mourn, maybe, and embrace any chance to see them again, definitely. But this is more than just a friendly visit, or sticking around for nostalgia’s sake. This is a haunting, and their mother was a lot of things, but vindictive is not one of them. She would never do anything to harm her boys.

The issue is, of course, telling their father. Jaemin actively avoids it actually, suffering through the relentless clamor night after night and trying to console Jisung at the same time. But everyone has a breaking point, even protective big brothers.

One day Jaemin wakes up and the chair that usually resides in the corner of his room is thrown against the door, toppled over like someone’s flung it across the room while they slept. The next day, they go downstairs for breakfast only to find all of their dad’s potted plants strewn about the kitchen. After that, it's a puzzle tossed off of the coffee table. Jisung’s Nintendo unplugged and launched against a window. The list goes on.

Eventually, Jaemin tells their father the whole story; from seance to first contact to the torment they're plagued with now. He doesn't buy it. “Jaem, are you sure you're okay? If you want to see a doctor, you can. It’s not weak to need help coping with...it, you know?” He thinks he's being supportive, or maybe comforting, or both. Under normal circumstances, Jaemin would agree. These aren't normal circumstances.

It doesn't stop. Nothing will make it fucking _stop._ Jaemin is gone, he swears. He looks like shit, eyes bruised from lack of sleep, he's jumpy, jittery like he never was before, and the only person he has to talk to about it is Jisung, who's in a similar state. They can't do much to support each other if they can't even function well enough to think.

Then one night, something changes. It's not terribly late; the boys are done struggling through their homework, but their dad isn't home yet, so they're stuck in limbo. The invisible hand knocks on, and they turn on MTV and blast the volume as high as it'll go in an effort to block out the sound. It doesn't work. It never does, but they can't seem to quit trying.

But then the background sound of knocking is gone. They look at each other, bewildered, and Jisung grabs the remote to turn down the TV to see if it's really stopped or they've only imagined it. Only the sounds of Bon Jovi’s guitar riffs cut through their uneven breathing. Then they hear it.

A soft tapping, much lighter than the banging they've come to expect. Rhythmic again, regular. And this time, it isn't coming from the walls. It sounds like it's in the floor.

“The basement?” Jisung whispers, though he probably doesn't need to bother. The dead can hear you no matter how quiet you think you are.

Jaemin nods. “Wait here,” he all but orders Jisung as he bolts off the couch and into the kitchen. Jisung’s eyes widen when he returns with their dad’s favourite (and biggest) chef's knife in hand. He jerks his head in the direction of the basement stairs, and Jisung gets up to follow. He can see Jisung’s nervous gulp from across the room.

They make their way down the stairs slowly, painfully, carefully. The tapping doesn't stop, the rhythm never wavers; Jaemin tries to even out his breathing with the pace it sets, but focusing on the noise only induces more panic. They reach the floor of the basement after what feels like years, but could only be a minute - either way, it's longer than either of them would like to be down here. They hold their breath, and Jaemin flicks on the light.

Their eyes are immediately drawn to the sticky red letters scrawled across the opposite wall.

_I’m in your room. Come and find me._

* * *

Their father is having none of it. He insists they're overcome with grief, developing unhealthy coping mechanisms, and enabling each other. He schedules them both appointments for therapy starting the next week.

The therapy really isn't a bad idea, if you ask Jaemin, but for much different reasons than his father believes. When he and Jisung found the literal writing on the wall, they'd run out of the house screaming, rushing over to pester their neighbour, Johnny, and begging him to call their dad. He'd let them, obviously, and the two of them had fought over the phone in a frantic attempt to explain the inexplicable. Their father got the gist of it, even if the phone was being passed back and forth between the boys every other sentence.

He came home right away, inspected the house, and found nothing noteworthy except the words on the basement wall. While he did agree that it was unsettling, he thought it was just two bored teenagers pulling a prank.

So now, said teenagers are in therapy. The first session is fine, really, mostly because they actually do talk about Jaemin’s mom, which was a long time coming. It's helpful to get it out there, to talk to someone who has no actual emotional attachment to his dead mother or the situation in general. Jaemin’s suddenly reminded of his conversation with Jeno all those months ago, and it's jarring to say the least. 

The therapist is a lot more helpful than Jeno was. Life goes on.

* * *

Life has a funny way of repeating itself.

Nearly a month passes by, silent. Nothing but the sounds of music leaking from the headphones of Jaemin’s Walkman, Jisung's latest game of Donkey Kong, and the bubble of their dad boiling pasta in the kitchen. The whir of the fan as the warm air of spring heats up the living room. The mewl of a stray cat that's started pawing at the window for attention. The watering of a plant that got a little too much sun.

The knocking.

It comes from Jaemin’s bedroom, on a lazy Friday afternoon, and Jisung’s eyes immediately shoot up to meet Jaemin’s in horror. He imagines his face looks about as petrified as his brother’s.

Jaemin doesn't even bother with the knife this time, just creeps up the stairs, Jisung in tow, arm stretched out protectively in front of his little brother. When they reach his bedroom door, time freezes. When Jaemin opens the door, they watch it in slow motion.

The same red letters stare back at them.

_I'm back. Find me if you can._

* * *

In retrospect, they should have stayed at Johnny’s house. Johnny’s a nice guy, and he's put up with them for this long, so really the sensible thing to do would be to hide next door and wait for their dad to come home.

Unfortunately, that is not what Jaemin and Jisung do.

“I think you kids should stay here. Jaehyun’s already on his way,” Johnny tries to reason with them. “I don't think it's safe.”

Jaemin somehow finds it in himself to scoff. “He doesn't believe us anyway.” Johnny can't say much to that, because it's true.

So here they are, standing on their doorstep, ready to end this once and for all. “What are we even gonna do?” Jisung asks, ever the practical one. He needs a plan.

Jaemin doesn't have one. “This thing wants us to find it, right? So let's find it.” He says it like it's obvious. On some level, maybe it is.

They step through the doorway, and as soon as they cross the threshold, goosebumps prick their skin. It's like their bodies know something horrible is about to happen, can sense the impending doom. The door closing behind them feels like a coffin falling shut.

They don't waste time, because they have none to waste. It dawns on Jaemin that he just wants it to be over, one way or another. Whatever that may mean.

They get to Jaemin’s room, door still slightly ajar, and see the challenge written there in red. When Jaemin kicks the door farther open, they see fresh words underneath, still dripping down the wall.

_Marry me._

Neither one of them know what to make of that, because they don't have time to process it. There's a noise in the corner of the room, a bump, and when they turn, _he's_ there.

Jeno Lee, standing there, by Jaemin's nightstand. He looks even worse than the last (and only) time Jaemin saw him - face even more emaciated, hair grown out and choppy, body covered in dirt and bruises. And also their dead mother’s wedding dress, too big for his frame and too pretty for his corruption. But all of that is minor compared to the hatchet he's holding in his right hand. The hatchet he's currently aiming at Jisung.

Jaemin screams at Jisung to get out, stepping in front of him, but before Jeno can get close Jaemin and his brother are being shoved to the side and a body is blocking Jeno’s path.

“ _Dad?”_ Jaemin croaks from where he's tumbled to the floor in a heap with Jisung.

Their father is far too occupied to respond, grappling with Jeno long enough to make Jaemin nervous, before being tossed to the floor as Jeno swings at him with the handle of the hatchet. Jaemin can’t see anything from his low vantage point, but when his dad stands up, he can tell something is wrong.

“Dad?” he says again, because what the fuck else is he supposed to say.

His father shakes his head, but doesn't turn around. “He's gone.”

Jaemin and Jisung share a look. “Gone?” Jisung repeats.

Their dad nods. “Gone.” He turns to look at them over his shoulder ever so briefly, like he doesn't want his eyes to leave the spot Jeno was just standing. “Jisung, go call 911.”

Jaemin immediately protests. “By himself?”

Their dad just levels him with a look. “Go, Sungie. Johnny's downstairs.”

Jisung does what he's told, practically sprinting down the stairs to get away from whatever this is. Jaemin feels like he can't breathe. “Where is he?”

His dad exhales slowly, like he's trying to calm himself down too. That's not reassuring - Jaemin's dad is a lot of things, but he's never known him to be afraid. “I don't know.”

Something in Jaemin snaps. He stands up, rushing around the room, frantically searching for any sign of Jeno. “Come out, you _bastard!”_ he yells as he throws a pillow against the wall. “You wanted me to find you, right?” he screams with a flip of his chair. “Get ready, fucker, I’m coming!” he shouts as he clears everything off of his dresser in one fell swoop.

His dad is really panicking now. “Jaemin, stop!” he pleads, grabbing Jaemin by the waist as he tugs his dresser away from the wall. But then Jaemin goes slack, limp in his father’s arms as his eye catches something he's never noticed before.

A tiny hole, barely the size of a nickel, in the wall beside his dresser, about shin height. At first glance, it could be for cords or an abandoned wall socket or something, Jaemin doesn't know, but it's almost like he sees movement in the darkness. Which would mean there's something behind it.

He crouches down, dragging his dad with him where his arms are still wrapped around Jaemin's body, swallowing his fear as he brings his face closer to the wall. He lines his eye up with the hole, and then he sees it - another eye blinking back at him.

He rips the wall open.

The hatch falls forward, and there's Jeno, wedding dress discarded, curled up into a ball in a crawl space that no one knew existed till now. He looks more like Jaemin remembers him now, a threadbare t-shirt and those same fucking Converse, now with bigger holes. He runs a hand through his greasy hair, and they all just look at each other. Jaemin’s dad tugs at his arm, trying to get him to step back, but Jaemin’s only looking into Jeno’s eyes. His face is blank as ever, but his eyes are burning with something Jaemin can't name. Doesn't know if he wants to name.

Jeno moves out of the wall, standing near Jaemin where he's braced in by his father’s protective arms. He presses a kiss to his fingertips, stepping forward to ghost them across Jaemin’s cheek. Jaemin’s dad is tense, and the muscles in his arms are twitching with the adrenaline, but he has no idea if movement will set Jeno off, so he's frozen in place. Always holding onto Jaemin.

Jaemin doesn't say anything. Jeno breaks the silence, like always. He smiles, all teeth and crinkly eyes, and it looks just as wrong as it did the first time Jaemin saw it. “You found me, Jaem.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was in fact based on a true story! look up daniel laplante if you aren't familiar with him, there's more to it than what i included here and the whole thing is so fucking unsettling
> 
> as always you can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/mullethyuck) come say hi!!


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